


Does He Cook?

by combee



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Developing Relationship, Graphic Depictions of Breakfast, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Waffles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combee/pseuds/combee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George is feeling valiant yet a little sleep deprived when he discovers that Captain Speirs may have an interesting quirk.<br/>From this, he begins to devise a scheme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Game Plan

"What do you think, George?" Babe chimed while he nudged him expectantly in the side. 

"Think about what?" Overwhelmed by a wave of somnolence, George succumbed to a heavy yawn before trying to shake his head clear from exhaustion.

"Captain Speirs," Babe continued, subtly gesturing to his right, "I think something's up." 

He glanced at Babe, then to Eugene at his side who had a slight smirk beginning to appear on his face, which he attempted to cover up. Carrying his eyes over from Babe's motion, he noticed their Captain. Their _grim_ looking Captain. 

Sitting alone on the steps of a rather decrepit house was Captain Speirs, eating whatever insufferable excuse for food he's scrounged up. George watched as he removed his helmet, placed it next to himself, and adjusted his Thompson slung over his shoulder while he eyed his food suspiciously. 

He looked back to Babe and Gene, a mischievous grin forming. "Lip is probably just too busy and had to cancel their dinner date or something," George snorted with a shrug. That earned him a wicked grin from Babe while Eugene slowly shook his head, looking quite scandalized. 

From the moment Easy had arrived here early that morning, Lipton had been busy hustling about. He undoubtedly checked if everyone was all right, got them situated and made damn certain that Easy was as comfortable as they could be given their circumstances. George had only seen Lipton once, briefly, when he hunted down his Lieutenant to gift him with a hot cup of coffee. 

During the drive, George had spotted Lipton and Speirs seated close to one another, Speirs offering Lipton a cigarette on a few occasions. He had accepted graciously, a small smile around the cigarette as he'd lean into Speirs to accept his flame. _And warmth._

It was a plausible theory, George liked to believed.

"Maybe you're right," Babe considered. He looked between Speirs and Eugene, then enthusiastically turned to George. "You should go talk to him!" 

" _You_ should go talk to him," George echoed, he pointed a finger towards Babe.

"Ah c'mon," Babe pleaded, "don't you wanna know?"

"Sure, but what makes you think Speirs will talk to me?" 

"We seen you talk to him before!" countered Babe.

"What, and neither of you have?" He looked between the two men who shrugged in sync. 

George had spoken with Speirs on multiple occasions, he reminisced. His most fond encounter took place during the time Lipton had fallen ill with pneumonia. 

When George had come to check on him one evening, he found them both under a large blanket huddled together on a couch. By the looks of it all, Lipton had passed out against his side some time ago, appearing more at peace than he had in days. Speirs had been about to take a swig from a bottle of Schnapp's when he noticed George and waved him over. He had sat himself down in an armchair across from the two, which creaked under his sudden weight. Speirs brought the bottle back up to his mouth and with a finger for emphasis mouthed _shhhh_ before taking a sip, then passed the bottle on to George. 

Despite being 'shushed' they had talked a fair amount that night. George had sensed an easy going atmosphere and broke the ice with _"so where's your other hand, Sir?"_

"Earth to Luz? George!"

His reverie was obscured by a hand on his shoulder that was rocking him slightly back into reality. 

"Jesus Christ, what are you smiling about?"

George shook his head for good measure, then dragged a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'll go talk to him."

Babe and Eugene remained near each other, softly snickering. 

"What?" He intently stared down the two, Babe's face was turning pinkish from suppressing laughter and it didn't take long for one of them to give in. 

Eugene turned to face Babe and began running a hand through Babe's hair, which left it standing at attention, then he whirled back around to face George. The hint was delivered, George started to pat down his tousled hair as he muttered a few curses and something about how _it's always the quiet ones_ to himself. He still felt a little foggy. 

"So long, fellas." George gave them a lazy salute and wandered over towards Speirs, patting down his various pockets in search for his smokes with no success on the way. He quickly turned around to shoo away Babe and Eugene who were standing where he had left them. They obliged, walking a few houses down the street and sat themselves beneath the town's central fountain.

Speirs didn't so much as glance up when George came to a stop in front of him, he just continued his reluctant chewing. After mulling over a few thoughts and a smart remark he fated for later, he decides to test his luck. "You look downright miserable, is everything all right, Sir?" 

Speirs stopped chewing immediately, his brow furrowing for a brief second. George noticed a button missing from Speirs' shirt, the scarf he wore was hung losely and very uneven around his neck. His hair was slightly disarrayed, his fringe deciding it wanted to rest against his brow. Speirs' irritation was damn near tangible as he swiftly brushed the roaming hairs out of his eye, only to have them fall deviously back seconds later. Speirs sighed quietly, and George really wished he had a cigarette now to keep his hands occupied. 

"I could be eating waffles right now," Speirs replied impassively, once again he began to skeptically stare at his food. After a few moments he continued, "but instead I'm eating this bullshit." 

Speirs' unreadble expression didn't waver as he took another bite from his rations. He then looked up at George who remained standing in front of him, exaggerated frown plastered on his face but he was nodding in agreement. 

He continued to watch George with his ambiguous stare, eventually righting himself and opted to stand. He held out an opened pack of smokes in George's direction as George was now day dreaming about waffles. 

"Think we'd all love to be eating some toasty waffles right about now, Sir." George concluded while he accepted a cigarette, to which Speirs lit up after his own. He mumbled a _thank you, Sir_ before politely, and perhaps a little quickly, took his leave.

George turned around after a few moments during his steady departure to chance a look behind himself. Speirs had settled back down on the step, exhaling smoke in a sigh. After rounding a slight bend in the street George looked around for Babe and Eugene but they were nowhere to be seen. He chuckled softly to himself as he took a drag of the Lucky Strike.

He slowed his pace.

Every man was aware of the stories that surrounded Ronald Speirs, after all the time that had passed since they originated he had become nothing less than a legend among men. George, more or less, remained indifferent to the rumors but enjoyed playing along. 

Sure, he did just eject himself from a brief conversation with the man after he had offered him a cigarette, disbelief had tied his tongue over a simple thank you. This had been the first time Speirs had offered _him_ a cigarette, however, the proverbial death warrant. 

He took in another drag, absently kicking a pebble at his foot. 

The temperature began to drop with the sun. George halted his walk and looked up at the sky, the brightest of stars beginning to show themselves. He smiled, this day was the most mild they have had in months. 

George brought his gaze back down to the street, he noticed a 'closed' sign discarded in some rubble. The frail building it lay in front of appeared to be a once charming cafe. He approached its large window and placed both of his hands on either side of his eyes for a better look inside. He didn't know what he expected to find; there were some dishes left behind on the counter, some small tables and matching chairs, everything was covered in a fine layer of dust. 

_There's gotta be a kitchen,_ he considered as he smeared the word 'lucky' into the grime built up on the window. He thought about what Speirs had said to him, _'I could be eating waffles right now.'_

His ponderings were interrupted by footsteps and pleasant chattering. George watched as Carwood Lipton stepped out of the building next to the once-cafe, clipboard in hand as he spoke through the doorway to someone inside. George stayed put and grinned, surely his theory was correct. 

Lipton began walking in his direction as he concentrated on his clipboard in the semi darkness. George kicked another pebble which drew Lipton's attention, and received a warm smile from his Lieutenant. 

"I'm alive!" George raised both arms up towards the sky as he announced this news to Lipton. 

Tucking his clipboard under an arm, Lipton's smile had turned into a mock skeptical glare. "Are you, now?"

"I sure am!" George stated, rocking back on his heels. 

"And when did you notice?" He thoroughly enjoyed when Lipton humored him. 

"A few minutes ago, after I walked away with a cigarette from Captain Speirs." George took another inhale of the cigarette to prove his point. 

"That was generous of him," Lipton spoke with a sheepish grin as George offered him the cigarette. He could plainly see as Lipton began to relax. 

"Rough day at the office?" He asked.

Lipton merely shrugged, exhaling slowly as if he'd been holding his breath, and passed the cigarette back to George. 

"Hey Lip?"

"Yeah boy?"

George leaned into Lipton slightly, glancing to his left and right suspiciously as if what he was about to say was strictly confidential. Despite himself, a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Do you happen to know a place that sells milk and eggs at a reasonable price?" 

Lipton let out a cheery laugh, he grasped George's shoulder and appeared all too amused. "George, what the hell do you need milk and eggs for?"

"Is that a no?" George wasn't quite ready to explain his scheme to Lip yet, it was still in its developmental phase, as of a few minutes ago. Without milk and eggs there could be no scheme at all, he needed to collect the appropriate pieces first, then share his plan with Lipton. 

The look he received from Lipton was then wary. "George?"

"No reason," he shrugged. George knows that Lipton could pry the truth from him with little effort, he had to change to subject quickly. "Have you seen Speirs today?"

 _Perfect diversion,_ he thought.

"Not since this morning," he realized.

George wasn't entirely sure what was going on between his Lieutenant and Captain. From what he had observed over the last few months since Speirs became Captain of Easy Company, George deemed it safe to say there was _something._ They mesh well together, he believed; two contrasting pieces of the same ornate puzzle.

By now, George had all but forgotten about his cigarette burning away, and yelped lamely as it burnt right down to his fingers. _Son of a bitch got me after all,_ he thought, chucking the butt. 

"Does he cook?"

Lipton threw George a thoughtful look. "I've never asked," he hadn't considered Speirs in an adequate kitchen setting up until now, and he was having a difficult time trying to imagine why George would be. He smirked. "Honestly George, when was the last time you slept?"

"Hmm," George hadn't been getting much sleep, which wasn't unusual. He wasn't lying when he claimed: "I've been half asleep all day."

"Well, be sure to get a good rest tonight."

"I will Lip, you too."

Lipton smiled again at George before they turned their separate ways. 

George had planning to do, but he was at least confident that when the time came, Lipton would be up for his role in this plan. He was chipper as he walked away, grinning from ear to ear when he heard Lipton call out to him from a couple houses down. "George! Do you know where I may find Captain Speirs?"


	2. Poached

The next morning George had woken up before first light. He quickly went through his miniscule morning routine, then made his way over to the cafe untroubled. Fortunately enough, the front door had not been locked when its owners abandoned it. The amount of airborne dust he stirred up from walking through the debris was enough to make him sneeze every few moments.

Predictably, the kitchen was in the back of the building. After rummaging through some cupboards, George had found an opened bag of flour left behind, as well as a glass jar that he taste-tested, containing sugar. Both had seemed undisturbed by rodents or any other critters, so he set them aside. Following these fortunes, real gold was struck when George uncovered a simple waffle iron midst various kitchen appliances. All it would need is a heat source, and if the stove was not operational, it would not be difficult to find an alternative. One good scrub down and rinse later, he declared it good as new.

Before leaving the cafe, George had sat down on a counter top next to a tray of mugs, lighting up a cigarette and mulled over his plan. Thus far, everything has worked out in his favor. He predicted that by this point, he would have discarded his impulsive idea. That he would have a good laugh about it later on and forget all about it. There was just something about the enigmatic Captain Speirs telling George that he would _'rather be eating waffles'_ that has motivated him to do this out of the goodness of his heart.

George heavily considered Lipton in all of this as well. Sure, the idea to set up everything they would need to make waffles was inspired by Speirs, but Lipton deserved this surprise just as much. Easy was currently off the front lines and there was no telling for how long, and George believed this would be a pleasant set up, of sorts. A peaceful, well deserved breakfast.

Following the ingredient check in at the cafe, he proceeded to seek out Doc Roe. He had been a little reluctant to get up at first; refusing to let go of the warm blanket he was cocooned in and muttered a few choice curses at George. With the persuasion of a pleasant morning stroll and some fried eggs for after, Eugene needed no more convincing. 

The next portion of George's plan was to investigate the nearest farm just outside of town for chickens, before any occupants would wake up. If there were any occupants left at all. Chickens meant eggs, and one thing that George was certain of, is that good homemade waffles required eggs. 

The sun was just beginning to rise when George and Eugene left for their first destination. There was no breeze, a heavy layer of mist lingered through the empty streets despite the freezing temperature. It was a calm, lazy walk, mostly in silence aside from the occasional bird chirping as they passed or an extended yawn escaping them. Within fifteen minutes they arrived at a frail wire fence surrounding a farm that rest on a slight hill.

George had decided to climb over first, one leg at a time. As he rounded his second leg over the top of the fence, the loose fabric of his pant leg got caught in a stray wire, sending him in an awkward crumble towards the cold ground in a heap. 

Now he was _here,_ momentarily regretting all of his decisions leading up to this point, feeling the assault of a stone beneath his back.

"Graceful," Eugene surveyed as he eyed George, who remained laying in defeat.

George chuckled at his own expense, slowly he began to stand himself up while Eugene was already balanced midway over the fence.

"You wanna explain why you asked _me_ to come along on this little adventure of yours?"

"Figured you would complain the least," George replied, offering a hand out to Eugene as he hopped firmly to the ground without getting snagged.

"Was I mistaken?" George asked as he began massaging a particularly sore spot on his lower back, that was not there moments ago.

Eugene smiled, "We'll see."

They approached the barn, hassle free from a few curious cows scattered across the field, and as they got closer they could hear the distinct sound of chickens clucking away in a coupe. 

"Bingo!" George hoarsely whispered as he tried the withered wooden door. The rusted latch gave away easily, and George pushed the door open as quietly as he could despite the screeching hinges. 

He threw Eugene a wry grin and stepped aside from the doorway. "Ladies first."

Eugene simply rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping past George. 

Following the sounds of various volumes of cooing, George and Eugene were met with about a dozen chickens. A few remained in their housing while a few hovered around their feet, investigating the intruders. 

"Hey Doc?"

"Yeah?" Eugene was watching intently as one chickens hopped down from its nest to greet them, exposing three eggs.

George made a few careful steps over to the nest, picking up an egg, the clucking intensified. "How can you tell if these eggs have chicks in them or not?" He held up the egg towards some sunlight streaming through a grungy window, as if expecting to see through its shell.

"You can't be serious!" Eugene huffed, snatching away the egg in George's hand to examine it for himself.

"Well, Eugene, egg theft is hardly a hobby of mine." 

"Crack one open and see," Eugene suggested indifferently. As if on queue, several chickens flocked near his feet, one began pecking at his boot.

"What? No! What if there's a chick in there?"

"What if there isn't?"

"What a waste of a perfectly fine egg!" George was now embracing a feisty chicken in one arm, not certain how to calm the bird. He grabbed a few eggs and placed them cautiously into his helmet. 

Eugene grabbed a couple for himself. "I highly doubt these have chicks in 'em."

"As long as you _highly doubt it,_ " George trailed off, trying to dismiss his suspicion. 

The chicken in his arm eventually relaxed to a degree where George was able to lightly run a hand through it's feathers, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. "Hey Gene, check it out."

Eugene turned to face him, smiling contently at the sight. "You're a real natural," he noted in a hushed tone, giving the chicken a soft pat himself. Before long he peered through the window, the morning light was nearly in full swing. "Hate to break this up, but we aught to get going."

Grudgingly, George placed the chicken back in its nest. It immediately began clucking again as he picked up his helmet and turned to follow Eugene out of the barn. They both shielded their eyes instantaneously as they stepped into the sunshine.

"Guess no one's home," George reckoned as he glanced at the farmhouse beyond the barn, still as before. "Or we just make exceptional thieves." 

Eugene simply hummed in agreement, a yawn proceeding.

Only the first hour of the day, George thought, and already this day felt promising. He tried not to let his optimism overwhelm him yet, but he was really looking forward to filling in Lipton on his scheme. Despite the small dose of theft, he did not expect Lipton to protest; not while Captain Speirs had a knack for thievery himself, after all.

"Didn't you mention milk to me earlier?" Eugene asked as he pulled out a few pieces of straw from his helmet.

George visibly cringed, "Yeah."

He began walking partially sideways, observing George as his expression went from enthusiastic to distressed in a heartbeat. "How you plan to get some?"

George simply shrugged. "I don't know, yet."

Eugene walked on ahead again. Scanning the field as they made their way back towards the fence, he noticed a few cows gathered there. He merely pointed in their direction and waited for George to take notice.

"Jesus Christ," George gave the back of Eugene's head an unimpressed look. "No, I'm not milking a damn cow."

"So, how then?" Eugene sent him a teasing smile, handing George his helmet as he effortlessly climbed the fence.

"I'll think of something."

*

The walk back into town passed quickly, both George and Eugene pleased with their loot. George was especially thankful that Eugene hadn't pressed his sudden need for eggs and milk. As they parted ways, George thought he saw a modest bounce in Eugene's steps.

Now, he needed to return to the cafe. 

Turning the last corner on the way, George paused central street like a deer in headlights when he intercepted with Lipton and Speirs conversing over a cigarette. _Shit shit shit_ he muttered, tilting his helmet back discretely and hoping it would be enough to keep the eggs out of their view. He tried to act natural when they noticed him. 

"Morning, George." Lipton offered a lethargic smile while Speirs nodded to him once, stoic as ever. 

George put on his best _up to no mischief_ stance, or so he prayed. "Good morning Lieutenant, Captain."

A lingering silence took over for what felt like an eternity to George. His luck finally ran out, he thought, supposed it had to. He was caught red-handed and the dreadful conclusion that he would have to explain the stolen eggs to Lipton _and_ Speirs caused his heart to race. _Damn it you're overreacting,_ he tried to shut out his conscience that was telling him how screwed he was. Idly he rubbed at the aching spot on his back that was surely turning into an angry bruise, finding yet again that he was beginning to regret every decision he has made so far today. 

"Well," Speirs allowed his finished cigarette to fall to the ground then faced Lipton once more. "I will catch up with you later, Lipton."

"Sir." 

George could have sworn he caught a sparkle flare in Lipton's eye when Speirs mouthed his name. Despite his current discomfort, he had to fight back a knowing grin.

"George," Speirs nodded sternly once more before departing, and George sincerely hoped his relief was not visible on his face. The previous minute had been an emotional roller coaster.

"You're up early," Lipton turned to completely face him, and George could pinpoint the exact moment as he acknowledged the contents of his helmet. "–And you've been busy."

Fumbling for words, George rested a hand on Lipton's shoulder and said "Just, come with me."

Lipton obliged, letting George lead him to the cafe, not without a skeptical smirk to which George winked at him in return.

As they entered the cafe and George vigorously waved a hand at the dust they disturbed, he broke out into an intense sneezing fit yet again. When they reached the kitchen, George sat down on the counter top next to the flour and sugar he left out, soon catching his breath. Lipton easily smiled as he watched George wipe away an involuntary tear.

Moving to lean against a wall, Lipton crossed his arms over his chest, gesturing towards the abundance of ingredients."All right George, time to spill."

George cleared his throat once and examined the eggs in his helmet to make sure none were damaged as he spoke. "So, I have this idea, it occurred to me last night. Remember how I mentioned milk and eggs to you?"

Lipton was watching him intently, "I do."

"Well, before I stumbled into you, I was talking to Captain Speirs," George took a heavy breath, momentarily he feared that Speirs would never find any of this agreeable, despite his positive intentions. _This is too much,_ he hesitated. "Shit."

He swayed where he was perched slightly, registering as Lipton left the wall opposite to him and came to lean against the counter to his side instead, an aura of comfort. "George?"

A groan escaped him, George doubtfully eyed the spruced up waffle iron and continued with his explanation. "Speirs was sitting alone, he looked awfully gloomy, more than usual. Thought maybe I could cheer him up a little, you know?"

Lipton nodded slowly, urging George to continue. 

"He was eating some crummy old rations when I walked up to him. I didn't know what to say, so I asked him why he looked so down in the dumps. At first I regretted even asking, then to my surprise he told me _'he could be eating waffles right now.'_ I really thought he was joking." 

George paused to search his pockets for his smokes. When he found them he lit two up, and passed one to Lipton before concluding. "When he offered me a cigarette I thanked him and excused myself. Before running into you I noticed this place, and that's when the idea hit me. I got up early this morning to see what may have been left behind here."

He took a heavy drag from his smoke, watching Lipton as he pieced the puzzle together. George began to feel ultimately silly when he saw the smile return to Lipton's face.

"All right, correct me if I'm not understanding," Lipton looked around the kitchen while he spoke. "Your plan is to find all the ingredients needed to make waffles, set this kitchen up, and arrange for him to end up here to make them? I'm guessing that's why you asked me whether or not he cooks. You know, this wouldn't be the first time Ron has mentioned waffles."

George perked up in a flash, "wait, _Ron_?"

"Captain Speirs," Lipton futilely corrected himself, but it was too late, he felt a blush creep over.

"Well, you pretty much nailed it," George had never seen Lipton turn so red. "My plan, that is. Thought it'd be a nice surprise."

George's grin was cheeky at Lipton's expense, but Lip was smiling as he exhaled smoke. "You know George, this is a wonderful idea."

"You really think so?"

"Yes, and I believe Captain Speirs will really appreciate all this effort you're putting into it." George made a slight _'ahem'_ sound, coaxing Lipton to rephrase. "–Ron will really appreciate this."

"Ah, there it is!" 

"Okay, okay," Lip shook his head, chuckling warmly. "So, looks like all you're missing is milk?" 

"That; and I was hoping you'd be willing to lure Speirs here when everything else is ready." 

"I can do that," Lipton promised. 

"You don't really need milk for waffles, but as I recall it helps make them more fluffy," George explained as he pretended to fluff up the air in front of him. 

"I have a bit of time right now," Lipton finished up his smoke and offered George an encouraging smile. "I'll see about finding some milk." 

"Thanks, Lip." 

George watched as Lipton made his exit, relief flooding him. _This is good,_ he reassured himself. He had no idea how the hell Lipton was going to get his hands on some milk, but he felt optimistic. Lipton was now part of the plan, an essential piece. 

He slid off the counter and casually opened and closed various cupboards, looking for a large bowl suitable for mixing. He found a bowl, and to his pleasant surprise, he also found a wooden crate filled with plain white aprons. A mischievous smile played at his mouth as he hatched another idea. 


	3. Lucky Lipton

With Lipton's blessings, George had spent the remainder of the morning cleaning. Not something he expected he would ever find himself doing while an ocean away from home, but it was quite relaxing. Spontaneous sneezing fits aside, that is. 

It occurred to him that he was spending a great deal of time contemplating where Captain Speirs would prefer to enjoy his surprise. Would he remain in the kitchen? Would he choose to sit on one of the bar stools? Would he even use a plate? Or maybe, Lipton would insist he unwind at one of the tables? Either way, George felt a little ridiculous about it, but he had come this far and wanted to be prepared for anything. Speirs was unpredictable. 

It hadn't taken him long to clear away the majority of the dust and junk, and once George finished up in the kitchen he set out to tidy the bar. The counter top needed a desperate wash from the grime that had caked on it, he shined up some mugs and plates, and lastly decided that it wouldn't hurt to dazzle up one of the small tables. 

George had wandered back into the kitchen and was in the middle of testing the stove when he heard the front door chime. A mild heart attack ensued, but when he heard the familiar footsteps he let out a breath of relief. George turned away from the stove and peered into the doorway to see Lipton, looking moderately stunned.

"When are you opening this place up for business?" Lipton stepped into the kitchen, a glowing smile spread across his face. "I thought I'd stepped into the wrong place at first."

George nodded as he took in the kitchen for himself. _I'd make a damn fine maid,_ he mused. He cautiously waved a hand over the stove top and felt the temperature start to rise. "Any day now, hopefully."

"Well, while you were slaving away in here, I got a little lucky."

To this, George waggled his eyebrows. "Don't spare me on the details, Lip, let me hear it." 

"No, George, not like that," Lipton sighed, though he was grinning as he reached behind himself into his pack and revealed–

"You got milk!"

"I got some milk, yes." Lipton handed the small capped bottle to George who eyed it skeptically.

"How the hell?" 

Lipton chuckled softly, watching as George proceeded to cradle the bottle like it was a frail infant.

"Long story short; I just walked over to the farm at the end of the road and knocked on the front door. Figured it couldn't hurt to check. Sure enough, I was greeted by a sweet elderly woman and her husband." Lipton began as he shut down the stove, George's jaw slowly dropping further over ever word.

"Farm at the end of the road? Lip, that's where we poached these eggs from!" George set down the bottle of milk next to his helmet, still containing the eggs. "They mention anything about that?"

"Not a word. When they insisted I stay for tea, the husband mentioned that the farm work could wait a little longer, suppose that meant they hadn't been outside yet. I don't believe they've had visitors of any kind in some time, I received quite a warm welcome."

"I'm surprised they haven't moved to somewhere more..." _Safe,_ George wanted to say. 

"I know, George," Lipton rested a reassuring hand on George's shoulder. 

George nodded. He knew that everyone was a victim in this war, one way or another. Not that it made the reality any less dreadful. Tucking away this moment in time for later, he made a mental note to find some way to thank them personally. George reached for his pack of smokes and offered one to Lipton. "It ended up being a nice visit, then?"

"That, it was. Oh, and they gave me one more thing," Lipton fumbled around in his pack again momentarily before he found what he was looking for. He handed a miniature jar to George. "The wife suggested we use it sparingly, but it'll make for some really delicious waffles."

George accepted the jar and eyed its contents graciously, his smile returning. "Butter?"

"It sure is," Lipton pulled a drag from his cigarette. 

Something was not adding up, he threw Lipton a curious stare. "Well, butter is wonderful and all, but how did they know you were planning to make waffles?"

"I may have unintentionally mentioned waffles during our tea," Lipton appeared mildly embarrassed, dragging a hand slowly down his face. "I insisted that the milk was more than enough, but next thing I know, I was being handed a share of what butter they had left. They even recommended using a _dash of cinnamon_ in the mix."

"I sure hope you thanked them a whole bunch." George was chuckling now, feeling light-hearted. 

"You know I did."

They shared a few content moments of peace, that was until George started removing several eggs from his helmet and placed them in the large bowl he had found earlier. He set the milk and butter next to it and then under the watch of Lipton's curious gaze, he began maneuvering between drawers under the counter.

"What are you looking for?" Lipton questioned as George opened another drawer before shutting the previous one.

"Some kind of spoon, or whisk? Unless you think Speirs would prefer to mix everything with his hands."

Lipton raised a brow then he leaned away from the counter, pulling open the drawer behind himself. He grinned, picking up a whisk and waved it nonchalantly. "Here, in case he doesn't feel like getting his hands dirty."

"Perfect!" George placed the whisk with the rest of the waffle goods. "So, you have any idea how you'll get the Captain in here?"

Lipton did have a few proposals in mind, "Some."

"Think you can bring him around some time in the evening?" George eyed the apron hanging from a cupboard handle. "It's frigid enough in here that nothing will spoil, and I might dust up a bit more."

"Sounds good." Lipton gifted George with a luminous smirk before drifting towards the door.

"Oh, pump the breaks! You wouldn't happen to have a pen I may borrow, would you?"

Without hesitation, Lipton turned around and reached into his pack once more, searching. Moments later he pulled out a shabby pen and tossed it to George. "Jesus Lip, what don't you have in there?"

"Well, I can think of a few things," he speculated. "Catch up with you later, all right?"

"Absolutely, thanks Lip!"

George waited until he heard the front door shut before picking up the crate of aprons, only to relocate them outside the back door. _Hidden enough,_ he figured. Returning to the kitchen once more he seized the apron hanging from the cupboard handle. Pen in hand, he laid it flat out onto the counter top and pondered over what he should create on this blank canvas.

*

Lipton had bumped into Speirs only once during the afternoon, immediately after he had left George to finish up in the cafe. Not that Speirs had actually seen him exit; he had been sitting on the steps outside the house they now occupied with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, eyes closed. Lipton had begun to tread lighter along the gravel road in hopes not to induce a rude awakening. He was positive Speirs knew of his presence when he had stopped in front of him, and after a few moments Speirs' expression went from neutral to a slight smirk.

"Enjoying the sunlight, Sir?"

Speirs quietly hummed as a response, his eyes remained closed. He had been flawlessly illuminated by the sunlight and Lipton was left simply watching in awe. 

"Join me for a minute, Lieutenant?"

Lipton had accompanied Speirs on the steps. He quickly began to understand why Speirs chose to sit there; the way the sunlight greeted him felt like a warm blanket. 

In time with the descending sun, Lipton set out to find Captain Speirs. He needed to persuade him in a way that was both enticing and routine, and he thought what better than coffee? He decided that checking their current quarters was a good place to begin in his search. 

Upon arrival the front steps were unoccupied, and when he opened the front door he immediately noticed a silver knife laying near the stairs. Its shine was brilliant in the sunset light that crept through the windows. 

Lipton gently closed the front door and picked up the discarded knife, amused. _He's here, all right._

When he reached the end of the stairs he saw a faint light drifting through the crack beneath the bedroom door. Lipton knocked respectfully, though he was grasping the silver knife between two fingers and held it away from his body as if it were some vile pest. 

He heard the distinct sound of a chair scraping across hardwood, then footsteps on the other side of the door. Lipton watched the handle begin to turn and he tried his damnedest to contain his smile when Speirs opened the door.

"Carwood," Speirs greeted, relaxing against the door frame.

"I believe you dropped something."

Lipton had then given up on trying to look impassive, dangling the silver knife lamely between them. Speirs watched as it swayed left and right, left and right.

"I was wondering where that went," Speirs stepped back into the room, shutting the door after Lipton entered. 

If Speirs was impatient, he was not letting on. He pulled the wooden chair from under the desk and sat down slowly. It was a relatively small chair, low to the floor. Speirs gazed up at Lipton while he let his legs slide out, his boots had been loosened up, and crossed his arms behind his head. When he leaned back in the chair Speirs appeared utmost content. Resting on the desk behind him was the majority of the collected silver, save for one knife. 

With no lack of his characteristic warm smile, Lipton reached behind Speirs at the desk and picked up a rag. He could have sworn he heard the softest chuckle escape the other man as he began to polish the last piece of silver. 

"Collect the whole set?"

"Potentially," Speirs casually observed as Lipton eyed the knife briefly before continuing to polish. "Did the rest of your day go well?"

Lipton presented the newly polished knife to Speirs. "Well enough, yes. The men have been taking advantage of this deserved down time, it's nice to see."

"It is," Speirs placed the silver knife with the others, turning back to face Lipton completely. "Have you? Are you even going to sit?"

He remained standing in front of Speirs, idly folding the rag in his hands. Admittedly, Lipton was still in the process of figuring out the various stoic expressions Speirs wears. Notoriously a challenging read, yes, but with the great amount of time they have spent together he was able to pick up on the most subtle of gestures. At this time perhaps it was obvious between the loosened boots, top few buttons of his uniform undone, and hair resting carelessly. Speirs was feeling smug, he was enjoying this downtime as much as the rest of them. 

"I will," he replied. Speirs did not so much as blink when Lipton tossed the rag towards the desk behind him. The slight breeze caused his disheveled hair to whiffle as the rag flew by the side of his head. "After I find some coffee. Don't suppose you have seen any around?"

He was met with an amused smirk. "At this hour?"

"Well, it's not that late, and I still have more matters to tend to." It was not a lie, though it felt like a reasonable excuse. Lipton did not need to get any of it finished tonight, however.

"I don't recall seeing any coffee. Though, I haven't been looking." Speirs reflected on the couple houses he had looted. "I have been intending to check the cafe, perhaps that'd be a good place to find coffee."

_I'll be damned,_ Lipton resisted the urge to huff out a laugh. 

As they made their way down the stairs, Speirs was on his heels in the cramped space. Once free in the darkening street, Lipton glanced over his shoulder and watched Speirs casually step to his side to walk next to him. His head was lowered, but even in the night light Lipton could see that Speirs wore a slight grin. 

When they reached the old cafe, Lipton swung the door open and let Speirs enter first. While inspecting the cupboards below the counter aimlessly he heard Speirs' footsteps disappear into the kitchen, and it was a sincere gift when Lipton unearthed a half-full tin of coffee grinds. _That was lucky,_ he had to admit. 

Next he heard Speirs call out to him from the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting this place to be so _clean._ "

Lipton stood up from his kneeling position and wandered around the counter, trying not to sneak a peek through the kitchen door. George had not informed him whether he had hid everything; anticipating that Speirs would search around, or if he had set the ingredients out in the open.

"Sir, I found some coffee." 

"Did you just _'sir'_ me?" Speirs questioned from the kitchen confines, sounding more than a little charmed.

Lipton was about to rephrase when the front door chimed. He whirled around to the unexpected form of Doc Roe, while Speirs had come to stand in the kitchen doorway. If he had found the eggs, milk, or waffle iron, he was not letting it show.

"Doc, what's the matter?" Lipton approached him. Whatever Eugene needed, he would have to seize this opportunity to leave, and make sure Speirs stayed behind.

"Lookin' for scissors, Sir, and I can't seem to find any."

Lipton noted that Eugene remained near the front door, his tone was mildly urgent but far from serious. "Scissors?"

"Yessir, sharp scissors."

"I do, but not on me." Lipton realized.

He turned to Speirs who gestured with a head tilt towards the door, seemingly unphased. "You go, I'll be out of here soon."

Lipton nodded once, watching as Speirs ducked back into the kitchen. He then turned to follow Eugene out of the cafe. When Eugene had not offered any explanation, he eyed him curiously until he confessed.

"I don't need scissors," Eugene sighed, though it became a soft chuckle. 

"I didn't think so," Lipton rested a hand on Eugene's shoulder for a moment, looking around the street. "George?"

"You guessed it, Sir."

On queue, that was when Lipton spied George leaning against the house across the street, the end of his lit cigarette providing his location in the twilight.

"All right, thank you. I'll find out what he needs." 

Eugene offered him a light smile. "Leave you to it then, have a good night, Sir."

"You too, Eugene."

Lipton waited until Eugene was no longer in sight before wandering over, meeting up with George in the shaded space amidst the two houses.

"Scissors? Really?" Lipton accepted the cigarette George was already holding out for him.

"Is that what he said? I just asked him to make something up." George chuckled easily, lighting Lipton's cigarette. 

"Well, either way, that was some impeccable timing." Lipton let out a breath of smoke, imagining Speirs in the kitchen, discovering the arrangement. He smiled.

"Did he say much?"

Lipton wondered if he would mention anything later tonight. Whether it be about the abundance of ingredients, or the fact that he took off to get scissors for Eugene without bringing the coffee; the _supposed thing_ they had gone there searching for. "No, just that he'd return soon." 

"By the way, I left the waffle iron out, and the rest I hid," George elbowed Lipton playfully in the side. "Didn't wanna make it too easy for him."

Lipton nodded, pulling a drag from his smoke. "Perfect."


	4. Breakfast with Speirs

When Lipton woke up the following morning, Speirs was nowhere to be seen. He damn near leapt out of bed and proceeded to ready himself for the day. Lipton had a pretty decent assumption as to the Captain's whereabouts.

Prior to falling asleep, Speirs had not mentioned a word about the cafe. When Lipton had asked him if he found anything worthwhile there, he simply replied with a _'no'_ and inquired about Eugene's scissors he requested instead. There had been no comment on the coffee, eggs, milk, nothing of the sort.

Lipton sauntered over to the cafe in peace, save for the song of a few birds. He hesitated briefly at the front door before entering, trying as silently as he could manage with the chimes. 

He stood motionless inside, impulsively letting the sweet smell envelope him. He heard movement from the kitchen, and he all but tip-toed towards the kitchen entrance. 

Holding in a breath, Lipton peered around the doorway to find Captain Speirs standing in front of the stove. He wore an apron over his uniform, in one hand he held a waffle that was missing a bite out of it, and he could have sworn he heard a light tune being hummed. 

Lipton retreated from the kitchen entrance, a wide smile reached across his features and he leaned himself up against the wall. Speirs had not noticed him yet, not with his back to the doorway and seemingly fixated on his task at hand. Collecting himself, Lipton backtracked to the front door, and this time he opened and shut it with more force. When he approached this second time around, Speirs' attention was on him, and he was doing nothing to try and conceal his smirk.

"Thought I might find you here," Lipton attempted his best casual walk into the kitchen, eyeing up the bowl of waffle mix, the waffle iron over the stove and then Speirs; who, despite wearing an apron, had managed to get flour all up his sleeves and even some on his cheek. What Lipton was not anticipating was the tacky font over his apron, that only became legible as he came to a stop before Speirs.

"And I was wondering when you'd show up." 

Speirs' smile never faded as he announced that the next waffle was ready, set it on a plate, and handed it over to Lipton. He could hardly believe his eyes; the man was positively spirited.

"Can I help with anything, Sir?" Lipton watched as Speirs made his way back over to the stove to prepare another waffle.

Speirs sighed a bit dramatically, dragging a powdered sleeve over his forehead as he whirled around and gave Lipton a floury, sheepish look. "Carwood honestly, it's breakfast. You sit down and eat that waffle."

"Right," Lipton huffed out a chuckle, perching himself on the countertop. "Habit."

It really was a force of habit, and he knew Speirs understood. Not that it would prevent him from a gentle reminder on occasions, often by addressing him by his real name. Speirs seemed to slide easy between formal and familiar, not giving away anything to anyone. None other than to Lipton himself. He enjoyed the way his name sounded as it traveled off Speirs' tongue. 

He picked the waffle up off his plate, brought it up to his mouth and eagerly took his first bite. Speirs followed suit with his own he had started, grinning as he observed Lipton light up immensely. 

"Ron, this is absolutely delicious," Lipton barely muttered out as he we went in for a second bite.

"I'm glad," Speirs left the stove unattended for a moment, approaching Lipton on the counter to reach behind him, recovering a pocket-sized container. "I found this next to your tin of coffee, I added a pinch in the mix before I started cooking."

Still in the process of chewing, Lipton grasped the container from Speirs and rolled it over in his hand to read the label. He nearly choked on his waffle. "Cinnamon?"

"Yes, plus the butter helps too." Speirs stated modestly, smirking at the sight of Lipton turning a little pink before tending to the waffle he had on the go. "You forgot your coffee last night."

"I didn't really need the coffee," Lipton admitted.

"I didn't think so," Speirs glanced over his shoulder, minding Lipton curiously. "Is this your doing?"

"Not entirely," Lipton grinned and set down his plate next to himself before continuing. "It was George's idea from the start."

"George?"

"He told me you had mentioned something about waffles to him the other day, so yesterday George spent the majority of the day putting all this together." Lipton explained.

A calm chuckle escaped Speirs as he looked around the kitchen, recalling the brief conversation. "The ingredients, the waffle iron, he cleaned up too?"

"He did, yes," Lipton tried not to let his gaze drift down to Speirs' apron, that was unquestionably George's doing, too.

"And when I suggested checking this place for coffee?"

"Well, that wasn't part of the plan, but it did make my job easier." Lipton took another bite of his waffle, continuing to admire Speirs in this environment.

"Finish your waffle, then would you mind bringing George over?"

Lipton finished his last bite then hopped off from the counter top. He was grinning playfully as he approached Speirs, reaching to dust off some of the flour spread across his cheek. "You know, you're wearing an apron. I don't understand how you've managed to get flour everywhere but the damn apron."

Speirs allowed Lipton to clear away some of the flour before he grasped Lipton by his wrist, gently lowering is arm, holding his floury hand in his own. "Bring George, tell him his waffle will be ready in a few minutes."

*

"So he just threw the apron on, and didn't notice?" George asked as he eagerly kept pace next to Lipton, handing him back his borrowed pen.

Lipton accepted his pen, mindlessly tucking it away in his pack as they wandered through the quiet street. "No, not yet I don't think." 

"Well I'll be damned."

"Your writing isn't exactly the most legible," Lipton stated, holding the cafe door open for George.

"My writing is perfect." He was absolutely positive he saw Lipton roll his eyes as he walked through the front door. 

George made it to the kitchen doorway then had to pause, taking in a deep breath to which his stomach rumbled in agreement. He took a glimpse at Lipton, who was smiling benevolently at him. Then, he glanced over at Speirs, cooking away over the stove. George rubbed his fists over his eyes, blinked a few times and shook his head, trying to process the scenario before him. This may have been his idea initially, but he was still finding it difficult to conceive.

"Good morning Sir. Jesus, these smell amazing." 

George watched as Speirs placed a waffle on a plate and then continued to assemble another. The second he had turned away from them, George leaned into Lipton to whisper in his ear. "I don't know why I bothered with the whisk, it doesn't look like he used it. Just look at him. He's like a giant pastry." 

Lipton covered his mouth with a hand and nudged George away with the other, attempting to suppress his chuckling. 

After a few moments, Speirs ambled over to him and offered the plate, a slight grin all the while. "They taste even better, I make really good waffles."

George accepted the plate graciously, quite lost for words. He took a seat next to Lipton on the counter, simply full of amazement. 

_Christ, say something, you spent a day arranging this, pulled Lipton into it, and now the man just handed you a toasty waffle._ "What, no syrup?" 

_No, not that._

He was aware of Lipton's laughter beside him, but he was also anticipating a reaction from Speirs as he outwardly cringed at his own question. George swears he saw Speirs' floury hand twitch next to his sidearm.

"I'm kidding! Who needs syrup, huh? This looks heavenly." 

George didn't hesitate now, attempting to diffuse his foolhardy request as he dove in for his first bite. The waffles' texture was superb, the temperature was ideal, and the flavor was downright mouth watering. George had been far from serious about asking for syrup to begin with. Now, with this delightful mouthful, syrup would be utterly slanderous on this waffle. 

"Sir, this is–" George didn't finish his sentence, instead he hummed blissfully. 

He watched as Speirs delivered a waffle to Lipton, then fixed a plate up for himself. Settling against the counter next to him, he began grinding a flour covered sleeve against Lipton's pristine uniform. Lipton then inspected his dirtied uniform with false disappointment, followed by a quick flick of a crumb that hit Speirs meticulously on the chin, then fell to his plate. 

George went in for another bite, and the moment he brought his gaze back up a direct hit was landed on his nose as Speirs opted to return crumb fire on Lipton, but missed entirely. At this, Lipton's delighted laughter filled the kitchen and George doubled over, grasping at his nose that received phony damage, attempting to contain his waffle from spilling out of his mouth. Even Speirs was cheerfully snickering around his waffle, angling up to fire another crumb.

He hadn't known what outcome to expect from his plan, or this breakfast. One thing George was certain of though, as he looked between his Captain and Lieutenant, was that this was a good idea. 

George rested his plate next to himself on the counter, eyes shifting again between Lipton then Speirs who were finishing up as well. This breakfast with Speirs went exceedingly better than he ever could have imagined. George offered him a warm smile. "Thank you, Sir, that was all really wonderful."

Speirs hummed, finishing with his mouthful before speaking. His smile was genuine, his tone relaxed. "I should be thanking _you;_ Lipton tells me this was your idea."

George realized he must be turning a little pinkish. "Yeah, guess it was huh," he stammered.

"This is incredible, I'm–" Speirs appeared to falter for a moment, thoroughly searching for words. He reached for both George and Lipton's plates, and then placed them near the stove. "I'm sincerely grateful. Frankly, I don't know how I can thank you adequately."

George casually swung a hand through the air. "You know, joining you both for breakfast, crumb battles, that glorious waffle, and seeing you two all smug as a bug? That was more than enough, Sir."

"Well, there's a couple more on the way if you'd like another," Speirs offered, already beginning to pour waffle batter onto the iron.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like this one to go."

Speirs continued his pouring, and the moment he finished preparing this waffle he turned around to gaze intently at George with mild confusion. 

He sighed heartily. Lipton predicted George's next move, considering the glimpse of his commending expression. George began to explain to Speirs, who was now standing close to Lipton. "There's a lovely couple that live on one of the farms up the road, that's where Lip and I got the eggs, milk and butter from. I best bring one over as personal thanks."

Speirs' gaze went between George and Lipton, a soft smirk tugging at his mouth. He then reached for the bowl of waffle batter and examined it for a brief moment, giving it a satisfied nod. "If you wait another few minutes, I can make one for each of them."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely quoted Rufus Humphrey in this last chapter.  
> As well, the epilogue is short but hey if you wanna know what George wrote on that apron ...


	5. Epilogue

Lipton and Speirs stole more time during the morning together. Drinking coffee at one of the tables George had cleared off the day before, they peacefully awaited his return.

Speirs had a hand wrapped around his coffee mug, a cigarette lazily held in the other. He had kept his apron on, and Lipton was sincerely unsure whether or not Speirs was aware. Still. Among other things, he still had flour over himself, most obvious of which scattered over his face and hair. 

Lipton watched him with amusement, waiting. _Any second now._

Tilting his head away from the table, Speirs abandoned the coffee in hand to drag his fingers through his hair, shaking out some of the flour. 

_There it is._

"Honestly Ron, how did you manage to get flour in your hair in the first place?" Lipton chuckled.

Speirs straightened himself up in the chair, mindlessly stubbing his cigarette out against the edge of the table. 

He could sense that Speirs was trying not to let a smile escape him; the slight blush on his cheeks was a dead giveaway. "By now, I've lost track as to how many times I've dusted flour patches off your face."

Speirs swept his floury fringe from his brow, only to have it routinely fall back moments later. "Why do you wait so long to tell me?" 

"C'mere." Lipton gestured for Speirs to lean forward. Reaching a hand out, he gently began to brush away some flour. There had been one particularly heavy patch of the stuff over Speirs' left cheek that Lipton had neglected to mention, just for his own amusement. Besides, Speirs didn't seem to mind all the flour. 

"And why would you try to keep track if it will inevitably happen again?" Speirs was watching him contently, leaning into his touch. 

It was subtle, but Lipton felt it. "Good question."

Speirs quietly thanked him, then he brushed his finger tips over where Lipton had touched, as if an after thought. He stood up from the table. "Think I'll have some more coffee, how about you?"

"Sure," Lipton agreed, standing up as well, picking up their mugs from the table. 

Speirs had intercepted before Lipton could get away with the mugs, and as he turned to face Speirs completely, he felt a fire inside creep to the surface. This fire was familiar to Lipton by this point in time, he knew it was something Speirs brought out in him.

Lipton set the empty mugs down, then steadily began to close the space between them, urging himself to be brave. This new sort of brave. 

Speirs did not back away. Lipton watched as his mouth parted ever so slightly, and when he felt Speirs' hand along the back of his neck urging him closer, Lipton leaned in to kiss him. It didn't take long before his hands found their way into Speirs' tousled hair, and what started as a soft kiss was beginning to turn into something more fierce. Lipton felt ignited. So much time spent wondering how Speirs would taste, how he would feel pressed up against him. 

It was Lipton who slowly pulled away first, becoming aware of the hand around his waist keeping him near, and the other now sliding under his chin. He smiled as he lightly swept the tips of his fingers over Speirs' bottom lip, moments later Speirs' mouth was on his once more.

"I've been waiting for a moment to do that." 

"So have I, for some time," he began to admit. 

"Why now then?" Speirs whispered against his lips.

Reluctantly, Lipton took a small step back, and pointed to his chest. "Your apron was a great encouragement."

Speirs simply stared at Lipton as he began to untie his apron. He shook out some of the flour, and mouthed the words to himself. 

Lipton moved to his side as Speirs tossed a smile his way, then he wrapped one arm around his waist again, pulling him close. With his free hand, Speirs held up the apron with its inferior hand writing, reading out loud. _"Kiss the cook!"_

"You really didn't notice?"

"I can hardly read it," Speirs laid the apron down on the table, then smiled warmly at Lipton. "George?"

"George."

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who read: I sure hope you enjoyed, and thank very much!  
> This has been my first swing at writing, it sort of began as a joke. More or less. I'm very thankful for my sister's encouragement, I hope she knows. Initially I had just a few ideas floating around, which turned into scenarios and then I ended up here.


End file.
